


A Home for Hope

by Young_Scrappy_Hungry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek is there to help, Fluff, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, I'm just keeping the parts I like, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Pack Feels, Protective Derek, Scenting, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles is not having a good time, Top Derek, Werefox Stiles Stilinski, also some angst, just when things were getting back to normal, well...as normal as it gets when you're surrounded by magical creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-22 14:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Young_Scrappy_Hungry/pseuds/Young_Scrappy_Hungry
Summary: The summer after graduating college is supposed to be Scott and Stiles' last hurrah, but things change fast when they get into a car wreck. Stiles gets turned to save his life and now he has to learn how to live as a were. After spending the past several years constantly around werewolves, Stiles thought he had a much better idea of what this was like--he had no clue. Derek steps in to help Stiles cope with the change, and it turns out that more has changed than either of them thought.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles didn't think it would end this way. Not after everything he had already survived. But here he was, the taste of blood filling his mouth and Scott screaming at him. The jeep was laying at a weird angle, Scott looking up at him and most of Stiles' body weight resting against the center console and his own seat belt. Was that what was making his chest hurt so much? It felt like he was inhaling razor blades instead of oxygen.

Stiles tries to pay attention to what Scott is saying, his name he thinks, but there's a horrible noise like bricks in a washing machine that is drowning him out. They need to get out of the car, it sounds like something's going to explode. He's pushing on the seat belt button, but nothing is happening. Stiles starts tugging at the belt, "Scott--" he tried to continue, but talking hurt more than breathing.

The world went fuzzy for a moment before it started to move making Stiles cry out in pain. At least, he thinks he did, but all he heard was wet choking noises. Scott is in his line of sight now, lips moving frantically, one arm held against his chest as the other skims over Stiles' body. He thinks he should be able to feel Scott's hands, but all he can really feel right now is the horrible pain in his chest.

When Stiles manages to find Scott's face again, there are tears running down his cheeks. Stiles was already pretty sure he was dying, nothing could hurt this much and not kill him. He wants to comfort his best friend, assure him that everything will be alright, but he's having trouble locating his hand and figuring out how to make it move, and talking isn't an option, what with him drowning in his own blood.

He feels warm, even though he knows he must be bleeding,

Before everything goes black, Stiles sees a flash of red. _Oh great, the ambulance got here just in time to watch me die._

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles hates being awake. It's terrible, everything hurts and is uncomfortable and he _does not_ like it. He's much more comfortable asleep so he decides that that's where he'll stay: asleep. 

 

He's managing it quite nicely until there's a gentle squeeze on his hand and someone says his name. 

 

"Wha?" he manages to croak out of his dry throat.

 

Scott's voice is frantic, "Oh god, Stiles. How are you? How do you feel? Are you okay? Shit. That's stupid, of course you're not. Do you remember anything? Mom said you probably had a concussion, and wasn't sure how all the injuries would affect you-"

 

Stiles blinks desert-dry eyes over at his friend. He's been trying to track what Scott is saying but he got really lost around "of course you're not," and the concern in Scott's voice has his worry building because he's not sure why he wouldn't be fine or when he would have gotten a concussion, and he can't remember hurting _this much_ ever before, so now he's really starting to freak out because he doesn't know what's wrong with him and Scott isn't really helping. 

 

"Scott," Stiles means to shout, but he doesn't think that he quite managed it. In fact, he thinks his voice might have broken in a way it hasn't in years. Regardless, it stops Scott from saying anything else. "What happened?" 

 

"Oh...okay. You _don't_ remember then?"

 

"No," Stiles says even though he thinks it's pretty obvious at this point.

 

"Okay," Scott starts again. "We were in a car crash. It happened while we were coming home from our post-graduation trip. Do you remember our trip?" Scott's eyes flick between his. Stiles nods and winces as it sends pain shooting from temple to temple. "Okay, that's good. Well, we were in a car crash, the other driver wasn't paying attention to the passing lanes and you swerved off the road to avoid a head-on collision." Scott squeezes his hand again. "Everything wouldn't have been so bad if there hadn't been a tree in the way." Scott attempts a smile, but it comes out flat. 

 

Stiles closes his eyes and tries to catalog his body's aches and pains. He curls his fingers around Scott's hand and into the sheets on the bed, wiggles his toes and can feel the blanket rustle in response. He's thankful that all his limbs still seem to be attached, but the ache that seems to flow from his skull all the way down to his toenails--his _toenails_ for fuck's sake--makes him think that he's in worse shape than just a concussion. 

 

"So, how badly did I manage to fuck myself up?" he asks Scott.

 

"Umm, well, that's the part where it gets a bit complicated."

 

Stiles squints his eyes at his best friend again. "What do you mean?" He starts to look around the room for clues, as if his hospital room will have a sign declaring his prognosis for him on the wall or maybe he's covered in casts like those people you always see in movies that broke every bone in their body, but he's not in a hospital room. No, he's in a very familiar guest bedroom. He has hidden under this very bed when playing hide-and-seek with Scott when they were in elementary school. He whips his head back to face Scott and he can tell immediately that it was a very bad idea. He doesn't have to regret it long before he passes out.

 

* * *

 

The next time Stiles wakes up, he doesn't feel quite so much like he has the hangover from hell. Instead it feels more like he's got the flu: there's an ache in his bones and he's warm-but-cold-but-sweaty like he's running a fever. He's still in the McCall's guest room, and he can hear voices somewhere else in the house. There's a glass of water on the bedside table, and he groans as he rolls over and grabs for it. By the time he's chugged half the glass, his dad, Melissa, and Scott have come into the room. 

 

"Hey, kiddo." His dad sits carefully next to him on the bed and rests a hand on his shoulder. "How are you doing?"

 

"I feel like shit," Stiles groans, as he lowers himself back onto the bed. "What the hell happened to me?" He sees everyone exchange worried glances, and squints his eyes at them. "What? I'm not dead, so what's wrong?"

 

His dad and Melissa exchange another glance that's a conversation all its own. A squeeze to his shoulder and his dad starts, "Well, you are alive, and I am so, so thankful for that." His mouth scrunches up, and Stiles can see the sheen of tears that his dad is trying to hold back. 

 

"We all are," Melissa adds from the doorway. 

 

"Okay," Stiles draws the word out, looking between everyone in the room.

 

His dad clears his throat and opens his mouth before he shuts it and looks pleadingly at Melissa. Melissa takes a step forward. "I think what your dad is trying to say is that we are all just so happy you are here, and we love you no matter what."

 

"What's wrong with me?" It has to be something big if they think that they need to soften the blow like this.

 

"Nothing is wrong with you," Melissa all but shouts. She blushes lightly when all the eyes in the room turn to her. "Nothing at all."

 

"Umm, well," Scott starts to mumble. "It's really not bad."

 

There's another round of loaded glances and Stiles is getting really fed up with the lack of answers, and is about to tell them that he is not a child dammit and could they please just spit it out when Scott blurts, "I bit you!"

 

There's a long moment of silence before Stiles says the stupidest thing possible, "What?"

 

Scott folds his arms in front of him and scuffs a foot against the floor. "You were hurt really bad, I knew that as soon as I got you out of the Jeep. There was blood everywhere, your breathing and your heartbeat both sounded off..." Scott flicked his eyes up and held Stiles' gaze. "I couldn't lose you, so I bit you." He gave a self-conscious shrug, his eyes searching Stiles'.

 

"Oh."

 

This time the silence lasts longer. Stiles isn't sure how one is supposed to take the news of becoming a werewolf. He thinks that maybe there should be some freaking out. He's not human anymore after all! But mostly he just feels tired and achy, maybe he's in shock? Does shock feel like the desire to sleep for twenty years? 

 

Melissa puts a hand on Scott's shoulder and gently pushes him out of the room. She gives Stiles a supportive smile before closing the door. 

 

"So, you're a werewolf now."

 

"I guess." 

 

John sighs and scrubs a hand over his hair. "I know that this is a big deal--a big change--but I love you, and _that_ will never change. I'm here for you, okay?"

 

Stiles looks at his dad and nods. "Okay."

 

"Okay," John repeats. He gives a definitive nod, squeezing Stiles' hand once more before standing and leaving the room. 

 

Stiles throws an arm over his eyes and tries to go back to sleep.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Scott! What is _happening_ to me?" 

 

Stiles is on the floor of the McCall's living room, feeling like his bones are trying to punch through his skin. It's been a week since Scott told Stiles about biting him and nothing has stopped hurting. If anything it's  _worse_ : aches, hot flashes, the shift pushing against his skin and retreating just as fast as it had come. His ears are almost always ringing, the quietest sounds scraping at his eardrums and then, in the space of a second, it's like they're stuffed full of cotton. The pain hasn't done any favors for his appetite or sleeping schedule either. Through all of this, Scott has been at a bit of a loss. The past couple of days he's been alternating between trying to encourage Stiles into the shift and trying to find an anchor for him, but nothing has helped yet.

 

"It'll be okay, Stiles." Scott crouches down next to him. "Just relax into it. I know it feels weird and scary at first, but just remember that you're still you and I'm with you. I won't let anything bad happen." Scott let his hand fall onto Stiles' shoulder, but instead of being comforting, Stiles feels himself break under the weight.

 

"But you already did, Scott! You bit me and now I'm hurting, and everything feels _wrong_ , and I don't know what to do!" By the end of his rant Stiles is screaming with his hands tangled in his hair. "It's too much. It's just too much." Stiles started to sob.

 

He heard Scott get up and walk away and felt both relieved and like a piece of shit. Scott had been nothing but patient and supportive. Logically, Stiles knows that he wouldn't be alive if Scott hadn't bitten him. Melissa had confirmed that Stiles' injuries were fatal, he would have drowned in his own blood long before an ambulance would have reached the wreck. But he still feels robbed of something. A lot of somethings actually. His mom's Jeep was destroyed and he spent a full day mourning that loss. All of his post graduation plans are on hold, and, now, he doesn't even have his humanity left anymore. To say that he's feeling lost is a gross understatement.

 

Scott's footsteps approached again and he crouched by Stiles, not touching him this time. "I called Deaton and he says he has some ideas. He'll be here in ten minutes."

 

Stiles nodded miserably from the floor. At this point, he'd do anything to stop the pain. 

 

* * *

 

Deaton arrived and quickly started taking Stiles' vitals, asking him questions about his symptoms and how he was feeling. After several minutes, he nodded, his brow furrowed, and pulled a book out of his bag. He flipped through the pages quickly, before settling on one and skimming down the page, intermittently nodding to himself.

 

"Okay, I think I may have some idea of what's happening to you, Stiles."

 

"Great! What's the prognosis, doc?" Stiles tries not to sound bitter but if Deaton's face is anything to go off, he doesn't think he's managing it very well.

 

"Do you remember when Lydia and Jackson were bit?"

 

"Umm, duh?" Stiles knows those memories will never disappear.

 

Deaton raises an eyebrow at his disrespectful reply, but continues anyways. "They both rejected the bite as well."

 

"What?" Scott beats him to the question, but his stomach swoops so fast he's not sure that anything but the contents of his stomach would come out if he managed to open his mouth. "He's rejecting the bite?" Scott sounds hysterical and it's not doing great things for his own levels of calm. "Isn't the bite supposed to kill people, like, immediately if it doesn't take? What's going to happen to Stiles? How do we fix it?"

 

"Calm down, Scott." Deaton hardly raises his voice. "Stiles is going to be fine."

 

"I am?" 

 

Deaton turns to face Stiles. "Yes, you are. Your body is rejecting the bite, but it's for the same reason that Jackson and Lydia did. They already had magic in their bodies, leaving no room for anything else to get in."

 

"I'm magic?" Yeah, Stiles' voice was definitely several octaves too high. 

 

Deaton has the gall to chuckle. "No. Well, not very much anyways. I'm guessing that there was probably some residual magic in your bloodline, there are only traces of it in you. Regardless, those traces are fighting against the lycanthropy that's been introduced to your system, making the transformation rather...difficult for you."

 

"Oh."

 

There's silence in the room for a few seconds. 

 

"So, how do we fix it?"

 

Deaton sighs and there's a horrible moment where Stiles is sure that Deaton is going to tell him that there is no cure, he's just going to have to live like this forever. "Well, your system won't be able to completely fight it off like Lydia, and I don't think we'll be able to clear the magic from you like Jackson, so I think the best option would be to encourage your magic to accept the lycanthropy."

 

"Oh, well that sounds easy enough, thanks for the advice." Stiles accompanies the sarcasm with an eyeroll.

 

Deaton levels him with an unamused glare. "You're welcome."

 

Luckily, Scott is there to make sure that Stiles doesn't run off his best chance of figuring this out. "So what do we do?"

 

Deaton moves his glare from Stiles to Scott. "Surround Stiles with as much lycanthropic magical energy as possible."

 

"Which we would do how?"

 

"Surround him with werewolves, obviously," Deaton said.

 

"I'm around him all the time, is that not enough?"

 

"He's in a human household, with humans, a banshee, a kitsune, and werewolves wandering in and out. I can't believe it's doing much to settle his magic."

 

"...fair."

 

"But where else am I supposed to go?" Stiles interrupts from where he's still slumped on the floor.

 

"Derek's pack isn't far from here."

 

"What?" Scott and Stiles reply in unison.


End file.
